


the quiet musings of tom blake.

by redhotpandas



Series: Crying Means I Love You [4]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, BUT ONLY ONCE, Body Image, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Literal Sleeping Together, Living Together, M/M, Past Suicide Attempt, References to Depression, Sick Character, Sickfic, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting, they are cute, tom worries about will a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25462168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhotpandas/pseuds/redhotpandas
Summary: Tom couldn’t sleep. He thinks about what it’s like, being with Will. And yes, maybe Will is still working through some stuff.But he's getting better.They both are.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: Crying Means I Love You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725433
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	the quiet musings of tom blake.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm serious please comment you guys are holding out on me
> 
> But for real I can't stop writing 1917 modern au fics, so if anybody has any ideas, that would be cool.
> 
> Will has got super depression by the way. I don't know why more people aren't writing about this.
> 
> If you want the backstory, read [I'm Never Going to Let You Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23978320). (Or you could just read the whole series.)

Tom couldn’t sleep.

One would think he’d be able to sleep easily, laying next to Will; but he’s still wide awake, kept up by his thoughts. He had kicked off the duvet since he’d gotten too hot, and instead bundled it around his boyfriend some more. Will always got cold when he slept. 

Now Tom was just feeling the air in the room around him. It was a bit uncomfortable, but only in the slightest way; he could’ve been imagining it. He supposed it must have been because he was only in his underwear. Will was too; he usually wore the most annoying pair of pajamas Tom had ever seen—light blue with actual buttons on the top, and it wasn’t even short sleeved—and how he could sleep wearing that, Tom didn’t have a clue.

Right now, though, Will only had a pair of loose boxers on. It wasn’t one of those nights, although Tom desperately wished it to be. That was originally why he hadn’t been able to calm down. He was young, after all, and Will was hot, as usual. But Will was sleeping peacefully with his face shoved into the duvet, and Tom didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

Their fingertips were almost touching. Will’s hair spread out on the pillow like a halo; Tom supposed Will could be an angel if he closed his eyes for long enough. Not like the cheap cartoon version, though. Not Will. He was the kind with a thousand eyes and a sword made of heavenly fire. One word from him and Tom could be smited, but Will would decide to protect him instead. He always did. 

Tom wanted to reach out so, so badly, but Will already had such a hard time falling asleep normally, and tonight had been especially bad. Maybe he was getting sick; maybe Will was feeling down again. He hoped it was neither. Will didn’t deserve it, although he thought he did. Tom stared up at the ceiling. He could feel his eyes growing hot with fatigue, but his mind simply wouldn’t shut off. 

He was filled with worry, but it wasn’t paralyzing. He was relaxed, just trying to make sense of it all. It wasn’t like Tom had worried about Will before. And it wasn’t like Will had never proven that he could take care of himself, but…The way he was living before they had met? Atrocious. And it affected him still. One time, Tom used Will’s computer while he wasn’t around, and Will had left his journal for therapy open. Tom couldn’t help himself, still stupidly wanting to understand how Will worked, even now. Will had written that he used to think about killing himself every day, and that had made Tom cry. He should’ve known he would stumble across something like that. Shouldn’t have read Will’s private things. He had pretended not to notice when Will asked him if he was okay, but they both could see Tom’s eyes were red. He kissed Will extra that night. 

Tonight he wasn’t worried about that anymore. Will wanted to stay, and he was getting better. Tom didn’t have to doubt him anymore. But it still felt like they were two people, not one. Not yet. It’d only been a year since they had gotten together, which meant sometimes Tom caught himself wishing he could lock Will in a box, where he knew he’d be safe. But not happy. No one could force Will to be happy, not even Tom. 

The same thoughts repeated in his head. He didn’t like thinking about questions like these, because there was never any one answer. He glanced out the window—open to let in the air—and considered the stars he saw. Did he really love Will for as many stars as there were in the sky, when each star was millions of lightyears apart, floating in a cold, black, endless void? Being with Will was still fragile and new—Tom could easily break it if he wasn’t careful. And he knew if that happened, Will would think it was his own fault. But what if they didn’t break up? Did Tom want to allow himself the hope of marrying Will?

He held his breath. 

Yes. 

Marrying Will would be nice, to put it simply. The ceremony would be quiet, with lots of flowers, and although neither of them were particularly religious, it would be fitting to get married at the lovely church his mum frequented. Or, they could hold it outside, preferably near the orchard. Tom needed more photos of Will with cherry blossoms in his hair. When it would be time for them to read their vows, they’d both be crying. One would have to strain their ears to hear Will’s low voice, choked with emotion. Not Tom. He never missed what Will had to say. When they would put on the rings, Will’s fingers would tremble, but Tom would slide his ring onto Will’s finger steadily, because he would never be more sure of anything in his life. Then Tom would grasp Will by the shoulders and pull him down for the kiss.

The reception would be absolutely chaotic. Maybe even his mum would get drunk; and so would Joe, and Leslie, and everyone from university, and maybe even Will’s sister. They would drink and dance and stuff their faces full of food. Tom would have his dance with Will, and one with his mum. Then they would talk and laugh and he would kiss Will until their lips were numb. Will would look dashing, all done up in his suit, but it would look even better messed up, with his face flushed and his perfect hair disheveled.

And after the reception, they would probably go to a hotel room Will’s sister would have got them (she was a freak, honestly, always insinuating something to Tom when Will was in another room) and they would say they were going to sleep, but really, who could sleep after they got _married?_ In the dead of night, with only the bedside lamps turned on so they could see, Tom would pounce on Will, but really he wanted to take his time. He wanted to pull love-filled sobs and “I love you”s from his boyfriend’s—no, husband’s—mouth. Tom’s husband, Will. Maybe if he got lucky he would even hear “I’m so glad we got married, Tom.”

Tom pressed his legs together. He needed to find something else to think about. Like, what would their relationship look like in a few years, or more, if it lasted that long? Tom could have woken Will up right then and proposed, but he knew neither of them were ready yet. And anyway, proposing was a whole other thing to consider. Where and when would he do it? How would he do it? What if Will decided to propose instead? Tom didn’t even know if Will was okay with wearing a ring. He didn’t even know if Will would want to say yes.

Now, he needed to stop doubting his relationship already. He was going to have to trust that Will loved him, and he would try his hardest to maintain that.Looking at the clock, only half an hour seemed to have gone by. Tom sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to get out of bed.The kitchen tile was cold, but it wasn’t like he was going to hop out of bed and immediately put on socks. How was cereal for a midnight snack? Since they didn’t have anything else. He poured milk into his cereal, which would hopefully fuel his brain to stay awake even longer, which would be great.

Tom ended up making too much cereal, but he couldn’t just throw it away, so he ate it all and kind of hated himself for it. Obviously now, he didn’t have to worry about food anymore, but it was still hard to toss perfectly good food in the bin. He would have sleep for breakfast tomorrow, unless Will decided to make eggs or something. That bastard, always making eggs. Or banana bread. Fuck, Tom loved when Will made it. He threw his dish in the sink and tidied up a bit, which was almost impossible since Will kept the flat spotless. The only thing consistently strewn about were his books. Since Tom was up, he might as well go stare at himself in the bathroom mirror with the lights on, until his face became distorted and he scared himself.

His eyes hurt. It wasn’t exactly fun looking at yourself in the mirror with your boxers on. It was unavoidable, trying to tell himself that he looked normal, instead of simply saying he was fat. Tom had tried to lose weight, really, but it wouldn’t go away. Every time he worked out he only gained more muscle. Not like Will, which he was very jealous of. Will’s stomach was hard and toned, and his arms looked like they could break bone. He was tall and had legs for days; if Tom didn’t know any better, he would’ve told Will he had the proportions of a Barbie doll. In a good way, though, of course.

Tom did have mixed feelings on the issue. Yes, Will was more than proper fit, but Will worked out like he was punishing himself. When Tom first accompanied him, Will had started out with his normal routine, and the worse it became, the more Tom stared, until finally he suggested that they should do something else, like maybe try sports. When Will suggested rugby, Tom almost had a stroke. No, they were going to play tennis, unless Will wanted to sleep on the sofa. When they did try it out, Will was surprisingly playfully competitive, and of course Tom lost. Not that he minded. It had them buzzing all the way home, until they promptly crashed on the bed on top of each other. Tom wished so badly he could borrow that sleep for right now.

Why wasn’t he holding Will, again?

He got back into bed, this time pulling the covers over himself, and moved to face his boyfriend. He could hear his breathing and see his light colored eyelashes up close. If Will had nothing else, he still had his beauty. Will unconsciously shuffled closer and unceremoniously wrapped his arms around him, sliding his leg over Tom’s hip. Will encased him, as if he wanted to protect him from something. 

What did Tom need protection from? Wasn’t it Will, who suffered from panic attacks and depression? Wasn’t it Will, whose parents abandoned him? Wasn’t it Will, who cried when he felt any emotion other than apathy, who couldn’t seem to catch a single break in his life?

(Wasn’t it Will, who couldn’t stand up for himself, but would sacrifice himself for someone else? Wasn’t it Will, who decided to live every day, even if he hated being alive? Wasn’t it Will, who couldn’t love himself but could love Tom like he would see him every day for the rest of his life, like he would never see him again?)

Tom cuddled Will back, pushing his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. Will smelled good. Tom found himself getting lost by it, trying to get impossibly closer to Will. He bit his lip. Will’s thigh over his hip was not helping. True, it didn’t have to end in sex every time he and Will were around each other, but Tom had only just turned twenty and he didn’t have many alternatives. Plus, Will didn’t seem to mind. Usually he would gently smile as he held Tom, who was busy trying to find relief, and Will would let him do whatever he wanted. Unless they were actually doing it, in which case Will, more often than not, would get teary-eyed, which made him look even more pretty and Tom would feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside. Those were happy tears, ones he would kiss off Will’s face, and Will would laugh and apologize for crying, but honestly? Tom kind of wanted to make him do it more. 

That was only when they had a lot of time to do it, though. Sometimes they didn’t want to take the time. Sometimes Will would come looking for Tom, pick a fight, and get shoved face-first onto the coffee table, claiming he didn’t want to mess up the bed because he’d just made it. Then he would shyly show off his bruises the next day, daring Tom to touch the dark purple patches of skin right above the waistband of his jeans. This was not good to remember, Tom was already becoming dizzy from lack of sleep. It wasn’t like he could follow through with Will right now either— else he’d have to disentangle himself and get up to get new clothes. And Will would definitely wake up, and it was far too early for that. If only Will weren’t trying to kill him. 

Tom felt so warm and out of his head that his eyes snapped shut. Slowly his breathing began to match Will’s, and all his worries from earlier dissipated, leading his mind into nothingness. 

Tom didn’t expect to feel like he got hit by a train when he woke up. He groaned into his pillow. Something was amiss. Using all the strength he could muster, he raised his head up enough to check the time. Not nearly any time respectable enough to get up. He wanted to pass out again. Maybe if he cuddled Will some more, he could go back to sleep. He reached out, brushing his fingers along Will’s side. Will shivered.

“You awake?” Tom rasped.

Will’s face was still in the mattress. He fumbled around until he found Tom’s hand, then squeezed it, and moved around so he could speak. “Yeah.” 

“You alright?” Tom added. “I don’t feel very well.” 

“You’re sick?” 

“Yeah, I feel absolutely awful. I didn’t even feel it coming on,” Tom mumbled. He wondered if Will was feeling the same.“You?” 

“Not sick. I just...don’t feel right,” he said so softly Tom could barely hear. 

Trying not to immediately slip out of consciousness, Tom said, “Oh. We should just stay in bed, tomorrow.” He squeezed his hand again. So tomorrow was to be a sick day, then. Thank goodness, for him at least. He wasn’t so sure about Will. But he couldn’t put off sleep any longer.

The next time Tom woke up, Will was gone. Instantly he sat up; or rather, he tried to. His eyes watered, and his head throbbed. He could only focus on breathing, in and out, until the sensation lessened. Then he cautiously got out of bed.

He was cold, but there was no time to get dressed. He needed to see where Will was. Stepping out of the bedroom, Tom tried to call out, but his voice decided to make an absence. A loud clattering in the kitchen alerted him to Will’s location in the kitchen, where he was attempting to do the dishes. They didn’t need to be done, but Will was looking for a distraction. 

Until Will cut himself. It was like Tom watched it happen in slow motion. Will had his hands in the soapy dish water, then he pulled them out and dried them off, and only then noticed his finger starting to bleed. He must’ve not felt it happen. The problem was that Will stopped everything he was doing to stare at it. And the more Tom watched Will watch it happen, the more uncomfortable he felt. 

“Will?” Tom winced at the pain in his throat. 

Will jumped, and placed his hands behind his back. Like he was trying to hide it. Tom sighed, and resigned himself to the fact that if he didn’t see a bandage on it within fifteen minutes, Will was getting shit for it. 

“Are you coming back to bed?”

“Why would I be?” Will asked, searching Tom’s face. It was an odd question to ask, especially since Will was properly dressed.

 _Because I want you to._ “Are you going out?” Tom bypassed the question entirely. He went over to the sofa, tired from standing. He wanted to collapse back into bed so bad.

Will followed him over. “Yes, I thought I’d go for a walk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Tom crossed his arms. He could tell Will was slowly starting to get annoyed from his expression. He added, “I’m just a bit worried about you today, is all.”

“Don’t be. I feel fine.”

“Well, that’s just it. I don’t believe you.” Tom couldn’t have picked a poorer choice of words. “I mean, I know you aren’t really fine. I think it’d be a good idea to stay in today.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Uh, I just think you need rest just as much as I do.” Tom punctuated it with a cough into his sleeve. “In fact, I _want_ you to stay in. It would make me feel better.”

Will pieced it together, finally. “Oh. You think I’m going to try to do something.”

Tom didn’t even need to say anything. It was true. He grimaced. “Not necessarily!”

“What would make it necessary?” Will cut him off angrily. 

Tom rubbed his face. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what I’m _hearing_ is that you don’t want me to go out by myself because you think I’m going to try to hurt myself when you aren’t looking. It’s as if you don’t trust me at all!” Will stood up, looking down at him from his full height. It was fairly intimidating. 

Tom couldn’t do the same, although he badly wanted to. He pointed an accusatory finger at Will. “You haven’t exactly given me much to go off of!”

“Oh, really?” Will laughed.

“Yes! Excuse me for worrying about you every single day, then! Ever since I fucking found you—!” Tom yelled, not caring at all about his throat.

“You should’ve let me die!” 

Neither of them knew what to say after that. Tom gaped at Will, who was looking like he was trying not to cry. 

Tom suddenly felt bile rise in his throat and all but ran to the bathroom. Will listened to him retch from across the room, and walked over to make sure he was okay. 

Tom took a break from vomiting. “Just come back to bed, goddammit,” he heaved desperately. 

Will tried to push down the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he managed. 

Finally, Tom had gotten Will to go to bed. He poured himself some cold medicine and tried not to throw up as he drank it, then joined him. Will was stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers, clearly waiting for him. Tom cuddled up close and put his face in Will’s hair. 

“You look good today.” 

Will made a noise that meant that he didn’t believe it. Tom let it slide, for now at least.

“Were you serious about what you said?”

Will closed his eyes. He knew Tom would ask. He sighed. “Back then I would’ve meant it. But I don’t know so much, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think all that changed is that I care about you, a lot. And I don’t want you to be sad, because of me. And I do like waking up every morning and seeing you, believe it or not,” Will mumbled.

“Excuse me asking, but if you don’t want to cause me to get upset, why do you say things about yourself that you know make me sad?”

Will breathed out. “I guess I had that coming. Honestly, I couldn’t really explain it. It’s not like I want to hate myself, but I do.”

Tom poked him in the side.

“Sorry. But really, I can’t see whatever you do. It’s normal to me.”

Tom held him gently while Will tried to put into words. “It’s always been like this. I don’t even know why you put up with me. Every day I have to remind myself how good I have it. And I try not to think about the bad parts, but that makes it worse. I feel like I don’t have any interests outside of making myself feel bad, because it’s better than feeling nothing at all. But the worst part about that is, I can’t even cry.”

Tom pulled back to look at him. “Will, you’re crying right now.”

Will touched his face. “Oh.” 

“It’s fine. It doesn’t make me love you any less. Which I do. A lot. And I’m not going to leave you just because you think I should. In fact, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” 

“Thanks. That means a lot.” Will laughed wetly. But it did, to him. Tom was making one part of his life better, just by being there with him.

And that was enough, for right now.


End file.
